Dreamcast: Become A Believer
by leahhlee
Summary: Rivers wakes up in Middle Earth in a spontaneous car wreak. The only way to get back is to follow her heart and atone for her sins, which is hard when a sexy elf is by her side.
1. From The Wreakage

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer  
  
Chapter 1: from The Wreckage  
  
"Wasn't that the best movie ever?"  
  
"Oh, come on! This is like the fourth time we've been here!"  
  
"Actually, it's the fifth, but-"  
  
"Exactly!" She seemed flustered. Her streaky blonde hair was frizzing from its perch atop her head. "That's one time too many! I'm sick of Lord of the Rings."  
  
He ran a clumsy hand through his platinum blonde hair, rushing to keep up with her quick pace. "But Orlando Bloom was in it! You love him and his movies! Did you see Legolas take down that Oliphaunt? I mean, he was all-"  
  
"No, Kyler, I spent 10 pounds to sit there in the theater and stare at the ceiling!"  
  
He was silent, green eyes cast down on his path in front of him. His twin's steps were quicker, surer, and steadier. He fumbled along after her, confused and feeble. She checked her watch.  
  
"Great! I'm late for Tate's party! I don't know why I came here!" She whipped out her cell phone, dialing numbers as she ranted to Kyler in a sarcastic tone. "Wait! I remember! It's because Kyler can't talk to anyone! He is too stupid, yet he is a "grown" boy of 16!"  
  
Hurt, Kyler swung into his sister's car. He messed around with the buckle as he shoved it into the socket with a reassuring click.  
  
She hopped into the driver's side and jammed the key in angrily. "Tess?" The car revved beneath her. "Hey, it's Rivers. Kyler made me watch all nine and a half minutes of the credits . . . Yeah, like the fifth time."  
  
Tate had a bit of a monologue as Rivers pulled out onto the highway. "Tell me about it, he is so sexy!"  
  
Kyler smiled, but his face fell. He poked Rivers softly. "Riv?"  
  
"No, he did Pirates of the Caribbean in between them. I didn't like the movies that much. The books weren't that good, either."  
  
He shook her. "Hello?"  
  
"Yeah, I read the books on Elvish. They were pretty cool and they look really neat."  
  
Kyler shook her harder.  
  
"Hold on, Tate. What?" She was angry, but the lights from the on- coming car lightened her tone.  
  
She had gone on the wrong side of the road. The collision was seconds away . . .  
  
Time slowed. The glass freed itself from the windshield, jumping into Rivers' lap. Kyler covered his face as his arms slammed against the dashboard. Joints popped in his back and the unmistakable trickle of warm blood oozed from his nose. He looked up.  
  
The front of Rivers' mini was mashed against the other car, folds appearing in the metal of the hood. He turned to find Rivers in the squashed car and gasped.  
  
Her mouth was open, bleeding from her cheek. Glass riddled her doughy skin of her pale face. She was arched over the headrest, sandwiched between the roof of the car and the seat. Her white, albino eyes were open and they rolled in their sockets.  
  
Tate screamed through the cell phone. Kyler picked it up. "Tate? It's Kyler. Send help."  
  
* * * * *  
  
She was tumbling through space, catapulting through large expansions of nothingness. Color flew past her milky eyes and invisible hairs tugged at her banded locks.  
  
Rivers held her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and wrenched them open again.  
  
She was on a stone floor in the middle of some kind of courtyard. Some one cringing hid behind her. She felt his curls brush against her halter top's open back. A dark, robed figure hulked over them.  
  
He carried a sword, which was poised precariously over her head. Demonic, mottled hands grasped the hilt as it swept down, down, down . . .  
  
The blade stopped at it met Rivers palms, her fingers throwing themselves instinctively around the edges. It was extracted from her fingers, drawing blood from her hand.  
  
As the crimson wave drizzled down her palm, her head seemed to rip apart in pain. Every inch the blood touched sizzled with a cold fire, and she cried out in excruciating lament. She tossed herself at the creature in torment.  
  
In confusion, she missed, but that didn't matter. Anything to make the pain stop would do. She licked at the wound, spitting the scarlet fluid out on the stone. Her tongue ached with an intangible affliction.  
  
Someone else screamed. The noise increased the pain and she shut her eyes, wringing out sound. From behind her lids, real fire blazed as a terrible screech felled the courtyard. The sound smote her wound with a horrible hurt, the twin mouths on her hands pulling themselves apart. She joined the other in a chorus of twisted screams.  
  
A fiery hand flew to her cheek. It was soft and she grabbed it, opening her eyes. She didn't see anything, her desperate white eyes writhing in their sockets trying to find something to gaze upon. Invisible fingers pushed them closed.  
  
"Help," she groaned hopelessly. "It hurts!" 


	2. Awakening

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 2: Awakening Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
  
The world shivered and jumbled up the feeble picture that Rivers was granted for a little while. The pain was incredible, raging across her shaken body.  
  
Someone had wrapped their arms around her. Leather straps overflowed their palm and dug into her stomach. That was but a dull ache compared to what hell worked into her head.  
  
"Everything will be okay," it said, tone glossed with a distant fear. The sound thundered in her temples, her remaining conscious identifying it as a male. Something inhuman about his nature made her doubt the pain, but she strained to think and the nail of anguish drove into her head. She cried out softly.  
  
"Pain is only an invention of the mind." Her shrouded vision swirled, threatening to go. She focused on ignoring the hurt that waltzed across her broken soul. Her sight returned, clearing. The jumping motions had stopped and she slumped.  
  
The man dragged her off of her seat and placed her on the ground. The familiar crunch of leaves and twigs dimmed her vision told her she was in a forest. She knuckled her will, and slammed down on the pain.  
  
Instantly, it dissipated. It waited in the distance, like a cat waiting to pounce. Her vision clicked into clarity.  
  
She was in a forest. A man with ragged, straggly hair couched before her. His chin was cloaked in fine bristles, a mournful smile pulling at his lips.  
  
The pain hopped upon her and she screamed. Her sight instantly shrouded and evaporated, and she flailed.  
  
* * * * * (Suggestive Listening: "Toxic" Brittany Spears, In the Zone)  
"Mister Frodo! Please!"  
  
Sam desperately tried to extract a response from the plagued hobbit. Frodo's bluer-than-blue eyes only showed pain and he shed a few ragged breaths.  
  
Aragorn's hand squeezed his shoulder. "They will not live out the night without elvish medicine."  
  
"We are six days from Rivendell!"  
  
"Sam, do you know the Athelas plant?"  
  
The worried hobbit nodded. "Kingsfoil? It's a weed!"  
  
"Help me look for it. It may help to slow the poison."  
  
They clambered off into the woods leaving the three hobbits at the temporary campsite. Merry stroked Frodo's hand lovingly. Suddenly, a voice floated in from elsewhere.  
  
"What's this? A ranger caught off his guard?"  
  
Rivers stirred in a pained sleep. Her mouth shaped words, but no air would bear them. Frodo wriggled and he fell across Rivers lap, and he stayed there. She smiled at the sudden warmth, but that grin was ripped to pieces by excruciating pain.  
  
Aragorn returned with a plant in his hands. The weed had wilted from its soil withdrawal, cringing in the ranger's hands. A dark-haired elf followed him, making Merry hop to his feet in a graceful bow. Pippin seemed confused, more so than Merry.  
  
She spoke to Frodo and Rivers, fingers caressing his face. Finally, she said in Common, "They are fading!" Aragorn bowed his head.  
  
"I cannot bear two on one horse!"  
  
Aragorn knuckled his brow in thought and said, "You must try. At least take Frodo."  
  
Merry piped up, "And what of the Lady? She blocked that witch from stabbing him the first time!"  
  
"I know, the hobbit is right. She deserves to live as much as he."  
  
"Aragorn, I cannot do this alone on one horse!"  
  
"Arwen, you must try! For them." He kissed her cheek. "For the Ring."  
  
She blinked and them nodded. Once the trio was heavily situated upon her horse, she murmured, "Ride fast, ride fast!"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Rivers semi-conscious mind fell asleep, blocking out everything. When it stirred from its slumber, it woke the rest of her with joyous news. There was no pain, but in its place a soft comfort.  
  
A feathery bed supported her thin, frail body. Her fingers were entwined with someone else's, someone smaller than her. Her sight was bleary, but at least she could see. Running her hand through her bandy hair, she twisted to see her bedmate.  
  
He was quite a bit shorter than her, the swells of his feet beneath the covers stopping at her knees. His curly, brown head was resting on her shoulders and his breathing was deep and even.  
  
She raised her shoulder in hopes of waking him. His sky blue eyes peeped out from his eyelids and he rolled off of her shoulder, looking Rivers in the eyes.  
  
Rivers mouth dropped like a dead fly. "Frodo? Frodo Baggins?"  
  
His sideways smile confirmed her assumption and told her he was confused, too. He asked her, "Where am I?"  
  
"You are in the house of Elrond, and it's 10 o'clock on October the 24th, to be exact." Their heads whipped to the foot of the bed where an elderly man with a grey beard and staff slumped.  
  
"Gandalf?" Frodo inquired.  
  
The wizard smiled, but frowned at the girl. "You're lucky to be here, too. But I hear you tried to save Frodo's life, and that merits you an extended life."  
  
She spat the words out after trying them for a while. "I tried to save his life?"  
  
"Yes, good child. You took the blade in your very hands the first time he tried to stab Frodo. Not to worry, your wounds have been sealed shut."  
  
Frodo tugged at his shirt, revealing a long slice sewn closed by elven medicine. The mouths on Rivers' palms were stitched together, but they still hurt if she poked them.  
  
Another short person shuffled into the room. He was a trifle plump, with the same curly locks as Frodo.  
  
"Mister Frodo!"  
  
"Sam!"  
  
He ran to the bedside, couching by Frodo. A thankful smile was drawn up on his face the hobbits embraced. "Bless you, you're awake!" His eyes flickered across Rivers as they parted. "And you! I can't say how happy I am for you! Trying to save Mister Frodo, thank you so very much!"  
  
Rivers looked dumbstruck but she still smiled in confusion. Sam returned the grin with one of his own.  
  
"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins of the Shire and-"  
  
She choked on the words. "I don't think I live here. I don't think I saved his life either." 


	3. What Time Didn't Erase

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 3: What Time Didn't Erase Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
  
Gandalf squinted at her, beady eyes striking her with a pang of humbleness. "Child, recovery is a swift but painful process. Please, lie and rest."  
  
"I'm not drunk, if that is what you are saying."  
  
"You have no idea of what happened on Weathertop?" A shake of her head extracted a sigh from the wizard. "Perhaps Frodo does. No? Then it is best that I explain."  
  
He sank on to a chair near the hobbits and cleared his throat. "You were ambushed by the Ring wraiths on Weathertop. Their leader attempted to kill Frodo, blocked the first time by you, but succeeding the second time, yet only in grievously wounding him."  
  
Rivers eyes had swollen. "Wait, I think I am drunk, after all." Tears pulled at her eyelids and Frodo squeezed her hand. She shook free from him and swiped at her empty eyes.  
  
She remembered now. The glass had shattered; the screech of metal being crushed against itself filled her ears. Rivers was being tossed back into more than just her car. Ages of time and myths of other worlds climbed her aching body, wracked with blood. A figure loomed before her, and then there was awesome pain, filling her, becoming her. She was a squirming mass of anguish . . .  
  
Her hands flew to catch her crying face, left middle finger splitting upon contact. She pulled away to see the single shard of crystal and gasped as the warm blood slid down her fair skin.  
  
It was true. She had wrecked the car. There was glass in her hand.  
  
"Where is Kyler? Where is my brother?"  
  
"There was no other, child."  
  
"Yes, there is! What have you done with him? Did he not 'merit' a longer life?"  
  
Gandalf seemed startled, even having the nerve to look hurt. She let the tears come, meeting the wizard's glare. "Did-did he die?"  
  
His lips curled into a mournful grin. Frodo patted her on the back as Rivers dissolved into a shuddering wail. She cried long and hard, unable to stop, even if she wanted to. Eventually, Frodo's hand vanished, leaving her in the presence of the wizard.  
  
"My child, you really must stop crying. Your friend did not die, I believe."  
  
"Then prove it!" Her red, puffy eyes appeared from her interlocked arms. "Where is he? I refuse to believe that he is alive until I see him!"  
  
"Girl, there are many things you may refuse to believe in that you cannot see. Why burden yourself with believing? It is only an invention of the mind."  
  
The weeping slowed, and then stopped. "Am I truly in Middle Earth?"  
  
"The very one."  
  
"But I'm not from Middle Earth!"  
  
"Your accent proves that well enough. Perhaps you are from beyond the borders of Mordor, Gondor, and Rohan."  
  
She shook her head, inspiring a question. "Where are you from, good child?"  
  
"Firstly, I have a name and I am a woman, not a child."  
  
"Where are you from, good woman?"  
  
Rivers sighed in frustration. "My name, good geezer, is Rivers Elizabeth Brind'Amour, from Hastings, England."  
  
"I've never heard of Hastings."  
  
"Of course you haven't." She ripped the covers from her legs and put them back, realizing the temperature. "It's not of this world, nor of the Grey Havens."  
  
Gandalf handed her a cloak of a silky, metallic red. She hesitated, but draped around her shoulders and stood up. The garment was long, besting her five foot, five inches by three or four of its own, the gold trimmed edges fanning out across the tile.  
  
She realized she was garbed in a thin slip of white silk, splaying her legs and arms to her surroundings. Engulfed in the cloak, she felt protected. Her hair was down, messy from her tainted slumber.  
  
"Well, I must take my leave. Stay here until we decide what shall be done with you."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "The best of luck to you on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!"  
  
The wizard was struck by an invisible lightening, sewing him into the tile. When he turned to face her, a look of sarcasm was splayed across her face, plastered there with a wavering confidence. His look skewered her taxed eyes, piecing her with an arrow of realization.  
  
"I am mistaken. We must take our leave. Come, Rivers of Hastings."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"His strength returns."  
  
Rivers tucked her feet beneath a stone bench, dressed in a proper pink gown. It was very simple; there was a small bit of embroidery on the bodice, which was cut low to show off her scarce bosom, and the edges were hemmed, unadorned with lace. She still hid behind her red cloak, her first gift in Middle Earth.  
  
Elrond was a stocky elf; his presence (mainly his eyebrows) gave him all the commanding power he needed to make up for his grace. Rivers curtsied as she was introduced, but he only turned to Gandalf. The wizard and the elf exchanged wise words on the whereabouts of Sauron and the one Ring.  
  
He tilted her chin, steering her gaze into his own. "And so have you, my lady. I remember the mangled girl you were when you first arrived."  
Rivers could not bear him a smile. Her taxed and burdened eyes dropped elsewhere and he released her, leading Gandalf into an adjacent library.  
"I see nothing more in her than a mere child."  
"There is more than the eye can see." Gandalf braced himself on a shelf. "She made a comment about my passing on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm."  
Elrond seemed quite startled. "Are you suggesting that she is a prophetess?"  
"I'm not suggesting anything. But on the off-chance she is, she could be very dangerous."  
"Do you mean to trust her with the Ring?"  
"No, but she owes you her life, so it is in your-"  
"Frodo owes her a great debt. She is bound to him, and he to her."  
"If I may comment." Rivers and her red cloak swept into the room with a flourish of her scarlet garment. "I tried to save Frodo, I didn't actually save him."  
"He is a Ringbearer. Anyone, even those who did not succeed, still deserves recognition."  
The elf added skeptically, "And yet to have come so far, still bearing the Ring, the hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to it's evil."  
"It is a burden he should have never had to bear. We can ask no more of Frodo."  
"Gandalf, the enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are massing in the east-- his eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman you tell me has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin."  
Gandalf limped over to a balcony, letting the elvish wind sweep across his ancient features, nose thrusting itself from his face early. "His treachery runs deeper than you know. By foul craft Saruman has crossed orcs with goblin men, he's breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. It is an army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring."  
"Saruman would not dare step into Rivendell!"  
"Saruman has surprised all of us before, good lady. He is as unpredictable as the men. This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves! We cannot fight both Mordor and Isengard!"  
Rivers stamped her foot. "That isn't what Gandalf is asking! He needs like elves or something to take the Ring to Mordor!"  
"To Mordor? To Sauron?"  
"No, to Mount Doom to get rid of it!"  
Gandalf pouted. "Do you see what I mean?"  
"Lady Rivers, if I gave you the Ring, what would you do?" 


	4. Troubled Meetings

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 4: Troubled Meetings Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
  
"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate--this one doom."  
  
Rivers pinched her lips into a grim pout. Elrond had ordered her presence at his council after she told him she would give the  
  
"Frodo, bring forth the ring."  
  
Frodo nodded, placing the gold band in the middle of a stone pedestal. It gleamed in the elvish light, like an evil centerpiece of glittering deception. It was the trinket of Sauron, forged in the malicious fires of Mount Doom. An infernal whispered caressed Rivers ears, and then vanished into the silence.  
  
"So it is true," a man said. His chin was cloaked in a brown-bristled bread with a set of chocolate eyes to match. For that matter, the whole of him was drenched in brown, including a fudge-colored attire and tan skin.  
  
Rivers whispered, "The doom of Man."  
  
The brown man said in a raised voice, "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay? The blood of our people keeps your lands safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"  
  
A man on the far stretch of the circle said in a hushed voice, "You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."  
  
Rivers gasped to herself. This was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, future king of Gondor. He was the only heir to the throne of this plagued kingdom. The burden of a thousand people's pain smote his face with a weary look. Rivers knew better than to let her eyes tweak her feelings, for he was a deadly assassin and a passionate lover.  
  
The brown man snapped, "What would a ranger know of this?"  
  
That was when she saw him. Real, alive, in colour. The elf, Legolas, prince of Mirkwood, spat a smart comment back at the chocolate one.  
  
His ears came to two distinct peaks, golden locks falling about his ears like fresh snow. Blue eyes twinkling angrily, he returned to his seat on order from Aragorn.  
  
"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."  
  
"Aragorn is right," Gandalf sighed. "We cannot use it."  
  
"Then we must destroy it." Elrond's odd eyes brows pinched together in frustration.  
  
Silence ringed the council. Whispers flew about harshly, all unwilling lay claim to a believed certain death. A dwarf jumped to his stubby feet, drawing a gleaming axe from his chair. "What are we waiting for?"  
  
Rivers felt a single pair of eyes scanning her shapely form as she watched Gimli's axe shatter against the band of malice. Frodo whimpered somewhere, but Rivers heard nothing, she heard only the call of the Ring . . .  
  
"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."  
  
Rivers eyes widened in fear. "Ash nazg . . ."  
  
"One of you must do this."  
  
It was calling to them. How could they not hear?  
  
"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"  
  
Legolas' gaze upon the lady of Hastings wrenched a question from his lips. "Good lady? Are you alright?"  
  
Everyone's eyes strayed to Rivers; bandy hair frizzing, she wet her lips to speak, but no words left. Finally, she rushed, "It is true. I thought it was just a book that Kyler likes, but you can hear it, talking to you in your head!"  
  
Elrond sighed. "This is the power of the Ring! We must destroy it!"  
  
"How? We do not possess an army powerful enough to get into Mordor!"  
  
"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!"  
  
"I supposed you think you're the one to do it!"  
  
Gimli jumped up at Legolas, screaming, "I would die before I saw the Rings in the hands of an Elf!" The elves began to shout at the dwarves, and soon a verbal battle shook the council.  
  
Rivers sighed. So much hate and prejudice plagued this world! It wasn't so different here. But she heard a feral voice in! to recesses of her mind, calling to her with a sinister voice. "Ash Nazg Durbatuluk! Ash Nazg Gimbatul! Ash Nazg Gimbatul! Ash Nazg Gimbatul!  
  
"I will take it! I will take it! I will take the ring to Mordor . . . though I do not know the way."  
  
Frodo came forward, the Ring in his hand. Gandalf stood behind him with his aged hands resting on his shoulders. "I will help you bear this burden, as long as it is yours to bear."  
  
"If by my life or death, I will protect you." Aragorn knelt before the Ringbearer. "You have my sword."  
  
Rivers eyes shot to Legolas before he stirred and noticed his eye was upon her. "And you have my bow."  
  
"And my axe." Gimli exchanged a dark look with the elf before grimly standing beside Frodo. The brown one pushed past him, saying, "You carry the fates of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."  
  
A rustling from the bush produced the plump hobbit, Sam. "Mr. Frodo won't go anywhere without me!" Two more halflings ran beside Frodo, curly hair bouncing in their uneven steps. "And we're coming, too!"  
  
"You need people of intelligence on this sort of . . . quest-thing."  
  
"Nine companions . . . I add one more to your number."  
  
Rivers was surprised to find herself stumbling forward from a small shove from Elrond. Quickly retaining her balance, she avoided slamming into Frodo and whisked around to the side with a flourish of her cloak. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring, sharing the burdens of Middle Earth upon your very backs."  
  
"Whoa, hold it! I wanted to get home, not go on some quest thingy!" Rivers cringed afterwards, realizing how childish she sounded. She needed something . . . Middle Earthy. "With all due respect, I really don't think it would be wise to send me on a quest, err, because, um, I'm a woman."  
  
"My Lady," Elrond said in mocking tones, sounding quite fruity, "You would not abandon the people of Middle Earth in their time of need?"  
  
"But I'm not from Middle Earth . . . Oh, alright." She scooted toward Frodo reluctantly.  
  
"Great!" Pippin chimed. "So, where are we going?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Frodo had vanished into Bilbo's quarters, this Rivers knew from the story. She stood in somewhere in Rivendell where there was no sound, wind, or people. Oddly enough, she was comforted by the solitude.  
  
There was no time. She abode in the darkness until a voice shattered the perfect silence she had maintained for hours. "I greet you, Lady of Hastings."  
  
A thin, watery smile was plastered to her lips as Gandalf approached her. "You seem to like that cloak of mine."  
  
"Oh, right." She began to pull in off, but he stooped her. "A gift, good woman, from Gandalf Stormcrow."  
  
They stood in an empty darkness, plagued by the shadows of the evening for long, stretched minutes. Finally, Rivers blurted, "You want to talk about something?"  
  
"Yes, I do. Where did you come upon my passing at the bridge of Khazad-dûm?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Gandalf. But you'll be back-"  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"Long story. But I won't do it again, ok?"  
  
"Can you possibly explain this to me in any way?"  
  
Pause. "No. It's really complicated."  
  
"My Lady, you hold something in you none have. You must promise me something." He took her hands, rubbing them with his thumbs. The bloods shivered in the vessels at his touch. One of her defined eyebrows climbed her forehead. "Promise you what?"  
  
"Not to use your power."  
  
"Not to use it? But then why am I coming with the Fellowship?"  
  
"Strangers in Rivendell cause problems. Besides, you have nothing else to do, and perhaps we might find another use of you." He glanced at her slyly. "One you'll like."  
  
"Gandalf!" She shoved him playfully. She chuckled, but slurred it into a serious tone. "You must swear to me now."  
  
"But you're going to die! Why can't we do something about it?"  
  
"You can only delay things before fate tugs it from your grasp."  
  
"But I'm extra baggage!"  
  
"Lady, time reveals things the same as it heals them." His fingers grazed her ripped palms. "These got you here, no? Perhaps, they can get you father. Good day, my Lady." 


	5. The Magic of Ecstasy

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 4: The Magic of Ecstasy Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
  
Rivers had been sewn special traveling habits after the elves concurred in was near impossible to stuff a human into elvish traveling attire. Her bust line couldn't support any loose tunics, nor could it fold into a snug one. Leggings were too baggy for her spindly legs and the servant became vexed shortly, sending for the seamstress.  
  
Rivers was given eight outfits; two in green, two in white, and four in brown, styled the same. The complex methods of dressing herself (with the aid of three helpers) slowed her down, but she admired the effect in the end.  
  
First, a white, stretchy material was put on, covering her legs and arms to the elbows. Next, she wriggled into a leather tunic, custom-made to hug her shapely form. After sliding into the breeches, she draped her crimson cloak about her shoulders and winced as an elf tugged on her hair. The result was stunning and she thanked her servants repeatedly.  
  
She twisted a lock of her bandy, braided, hair at the gate of Rivendell, about to embark on the adventure of her life. She lingered too long.  
  
A warm hand shook her slightly. "Come, Lady."  
  
She turned, looking down the nose and to the ice-blue eyes of Legolas Greenleaf. Lost for words, she stumbled past him. "Right."  
  
The journey over the hills and rugged plains of Middle Earth made Rivers muscles scream, but she pushed on. Conversation was scarce, expect for the small bursts of encouragements from the hobbits. Finally, Gandalf said they might rest upon the stone ruins on a mountainside.  
  
Rivers slumped down onto a rock, weary and beaten. Gandalf yelled from a higher stone, "We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for 40 days. If our luck holds the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there our road turns east to Mordor."  
  
She almost didn't hear. Her head had drifted onto her sack, the odd- shaped bag molding to support her head. Faintly, swords clanged and laughed echoed around her ears. Weary feelings shut out anything else. She escaped the wrecked world of Middle Earth for a moment.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Legolas was a bit worn, but otherwise absolutely fine as he scaled the various rocks on the hillside. He chuckled as the hobbits jumped all over Boromir, who seemed merry for the first time.  
  
He spotted Rivers snoozing on the rocks. Her head was laid into her pile of things, ringed hair strewn carelessly about her, elvish braids barely visible from her constant fondling. She was enveloped in the soft grip of her scarlet cloak. Bosom steadily rising in her slumber, she wriggled her nose, pinching her unblemished face with temporary wrinkles. His eyes lingered for a moment, captivated by her catlike look in her sleep.  
  
Something twitched in his brain. His ears picked up sound and he skittered across the rocks, straining to hear. Suddenly, he recognized them. "Crebain from Dunland!"  
  
"Hide!"  
  
The hobbits scrambled beneath the stones, closely followed by Boromir and Aragorn. Legolas ducked beneath a bush, but darted out in remembrance: Rivers.  
  
The ravens soared overhead and their screeches forced Rivers to her senses. No sooner had she opened her eyes, she was tossed onto the rocky carpeting of the mountain. Soft hands gripped her firmly as she tumbled into the cavernous security of a tiny stone.  
  
Adrenaline surged through her. She bucked against him, the cawing of the birds peaking her fright. She was pinned beneath his iron grip and he subdued her feeble struggles with inhuman strength. Her strength smoldered away, leaving to only gasp unevenly.  
  
The yelling had dissipated, but her latent energy pinched her eyes shut and shoved gasps of air down her lungs. Her captor's face was inches above her own. The inches were becoming centimeters . . .  
  
"Spies of Saruman! The passage south is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras."  
  
Legolas rolled out from underneath the rock, hearth hammering in his chest. Why had he become so tense? As he remembered, she was a quivering mass of pent up energy, wriggling beneath him. She stood up, dusting herself off and picking up her cloak, shaking its free of grime.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The ice and snow dug into her, shoveling their way to her bone. She did not hear Frodo loose his footing and tumble downwards, only to be steadied by Aragorn. Rivers did not watch him, nor did she move.  
  
The Ring of power was a foot away from her. She stretched for it, hating the touch of the metal against her skin. The sensation was vile, but something in her thirsted for it.  
  
"Rivers."  
  
She pivoted to face Aragorn and the hobbit, extending the chain. "Here, Frodo."  
  
The hobbit waded through the snow, closing in on her. The nearer he came, the more she wanted to hurt him. Something regretted the loss of such a trinket and something else scolded her for touching it.  
  
His hand was coming closer, reaching for it.  
  
She withdrew. Aragorn stepped.  
  
Everyone concentrated on her face. She had knuckled it in effort to extend her arm, perspiration freezing as she trembled. Legolas heard her whispered, "Not . . . me."  
  
Once again, her hand went out. Frodo snatched it, giving her no time to retaliate.  
  
"I'm sorry." She turned away, trudging forward into the cold depths of the snow.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"There is a fell voice on the air!"  
  
Rivers pulled the cloak closer. Legolas' heels were visible at her eyes, which blended with the ice. It chilled her to her innermost core. Gandalf slurred something into the air and Rivers stumbled.  
  
Legolas felt the snow shift beneath him. He looked down from his perch atop the unpacked flakes and saw a hole gouged into the ice. It shifted again as he bounced into the trench.  
  
Snow piled in around him, sealing him in a permanent white frost. Rivers, wrapped in scarlet, lie in ruin at his feet. She shuddered in the cold as he scooped her up, bounding out of the snow.  
  
Aragorn's head surfaced, but disappeared as he ducked to find Frodo. Legolas saw people pop out of the snow, their weight preventing them from moving. His attention snapped to the girl in his arms as she groaned.  
  
"Are you alright, Lady?"  
  
She shuddered. "My name's Rivers. Please call me that." Her body was wracked with cold, and he lips squelched as she gasped a laugh. "God, it's cold."  
  
He wrapped her cloak tighter around her. Aragorn yelled, "It's to dangerous! We must turn back!"  
  
Rivers choked quietly, "You won't turn back." The ice had grasped her, and she fell under the freezing spell of cold. 


	6. Reaching Out

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 6: Reaching Out Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
Bounce.  
  
Bounce.  
  
Bounce.  
  
Shudder.  
  
"I'm awake!" She lunged and thudded on the ground. She lunged again. Only a squabble of stones answered her. Someone steadied her, and she shivered.  
  
A tingly feeling washed over her as blood crept back into her frostbitten limbs, the sensation confusing her. The trickling dazed her, stopping after a bit.  
  
"Good to know you can move again."  
  
She wrenched her eyes open. Legolas smiled, inches away. He had swept her into his arms, one behind her shoulders, the other tucked in the notch of her knees.  
  
"I can walk, you know."  
  
"Don't rush your recovery."  
  
"So I'm going to let you hold me? I don't think so." She squirmed. He resisted. "Look, this is embarrassing. Put me down."  
  
"It's embarrassing, but when you're slung over my shoulder in the mines it will be worse." He shifted her in his grip. "You will be on your feet by then, if you rest a bit."  
  
Rivers sighed. "Fine, but this sucks."  
  
"Does than mean you hate it?"  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Sorry about the randomness. But 'this sucks' means, err, dammit, I guess."  
  
"Why did you pick 'this sucks'?"  
  
"Don't go there. But it sucks because I feel really stupid." She felt disloyal to Kyler and shut her mouth, a pang of guilt swimming though her. They traveled down the wall until nightfall, but Rivers head was lolling against Legolas' shoulder before they reached the shining doors of Moria.  
  
Legolas sat on a rock, shaking Rivers slightly. "Wake up."  
  
"Nottasleep."  
  
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. "Can I walk now?"  
  
He slid away from her, grasping her hands. "Let's try."  
  
Her eyes glazed as the sizzling fire of his touch slithered up her arms. Her eyes smoldered into twin fires, exploring the emotionless depths of his oceanic gaze. Her chest was hardly enduring the throttle of blood, her heart throwing itself against her chest desperately. Testing her weight gingerly, she stood up, and stepped.  
  
Agony buckled her knees, but he was there. He swept her back into his arms, twirling her gracefully to kill her momentum. He was so strong, like steel, and so very male. But in his touch, Rivers found compassion and an angry gentleness.  
  
"Don't be screwing around, you two!" Gimli poked his axe at them.  
  
Rivers noticed Gandalf pondering upon a large stone before the glowing runes of Moria. "Hey! I know the answer!"  
  
He broke his melancholy as Legolas approached him with Rivers strung in hands. She said excitedly, "The answer is-"  
  
"Lady Brind'Amour, please." He seems calm. "Do not break your promise. Legolas, go."  
  
He turned away, carried a very cross Rivers. He asked, "Promise?"  
  
"Another long story. I'll show him." She rolled over and shouted at the door, "I'd kill for a MELON!"  
  
The doors shivered in the stone, and Merry stopped throwing rocks. They swung open and a dank shadow drifted out. Gandalf stormed over to Rivers, jabbing her angrily with his staff. "Fool! It is best to hold to your promises, and please do. Think of it as a bond."  
  
Rivers spat, "Well, sorry, Mr. Hanky-pants. Just trying to help." A grim smile was set across her lips as the wizard swept into whisper into her ear. Fear plagued her heart, but did not touch her face.  
  
"Mistakes will get you nowhere, child."  
  
She sighed. Mistakes got her into trouble. "I'm—I'm sorry."  
  
"Come now." A wave crashed on the shore.  
  
Rivers remembered. "Legolas, hurry."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Bound to the promise, she murmured something but he whisked along anyway. Gimli whistled, "Soon, master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves. Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!"  
  
Lumpy forms dotted the floor. Rivers shouted, "They're dead! Oh, how sick!" while thumping Legolas on the arms. She ordered him to put her down on the floor, which he did.  
  
"Goblins!" he exclaimed after pulling an arrow from a skull.  
  
"Quick, everyone out!"  
  
Legolas lost her in the dark, but Rivers crawled deeper into the crypt. She heard Frodo scream and whisked around.  
  
Dangling by his stumpy hobbit legs, Frodo was thrashing in the grip of a mammoth octopus with Sam, Boromir, and Aragorn plunging in to the water to help.  
  
His bow was out before Rivers wondered why Legolas' arrow had flown. It stuck the thing it the tentacle with Frodo. But the appendage toppled after a blow from Boromir, who tossed the shivering hobbit into the mine. Rivers scrambled forward, but her hand sunk into the rotten flesh of a long-dead dwarf. Mere reflex set her off, screaming and flailing.  
  
"Legolas! Aim for the eye!"  
  
The Watcher recoiled, sinking into the water and dragging the archway down with it. Rubble tumbled and Rivers continued to yell. When the dust cleared, Gandalf lit his staff. Legolas found her in light, yanking the skull off her hand. The decayed brain of the shriveled corpse dribbled down her fingers.  
  
Legolas held her as she hitched. "Go on. You're entitled."  
  
Gandalf wiped it away, saying, "We now have but one choice. We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."  
  
They traveled up staircases, down steep stonewalls, and through vast hallways. Legolas eventually Rivers use her feet, but she leaned on him for support and out of fear. The suspense was overwhelming.  
  
Gandalf stopped them in a small alcove. "We rest here tonight."  
  
The dead bodies fueled the campfire, bugs recoiling from the heat as smell. Rivers found a stone bench to sit on and she did so, enfolded in her red cloak. She was a bit distant from the group but no more than 10 yards.  
  
Legolas came over and sat down on the bench with her, joining her absolute melancholy in an endless vigil over the horrible caverns of Moria, the realm of Balin.  
  
"Thanks for saving me. Both times."  
  
"I'll claim my reward for now."  
  
Somewhere in there, Rivers drifted into a troubled sleep and Legolas carried her back, smiling gaily to himself. 


	7. Hordes of the Underdark

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 7: Hordes of the Underdark Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
The next two days was nothing but the endless climbing of stone stairways and running across barren floors of solid, carved stone. An intangible pall hung over the party, save whimpers and prayers from Gimli. Rivers marched solemnly next to Frodo, lost in her thoughts.  
  
I'll claim my reward for now.  
  
Sheesh, I have a lot to think about.  
  
Another staircase loomed before them, Frodo sliding in front of her to alight the steps. Eventually, she dove over the top ledge and sighed.  
  
It was the three doors, and this time Gandalf would hold her to her will, not that she would bend again. "I have no memory of this place."  
  
"Are we lost?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"I think we are."  
  
"Shh! Gandalf is thinking!"  
  
"Merry?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm hungry."  
  
"Oh, grow up, Peregrin Took." He sat down next to Rivers, who hugged him reassuringly. Pippin plopped down on Rivers other side and picked up a rock. He traced symbols in the stone. Rivers said, "You speak English. Can you write?"  
  
"English?"  
  
She explained that the Common tongue was called English where she was from, which spun into a whole monologue on England. Listening from a distance, Legolas was astonished to find that she had done many things in such a short expansion of life. "We do lots of things after school that you guys might find disturbing."  
  
Aragorn asked, "Like what?"  
  
"Like going to parties with people and getting off with boys."  
  
"Getting off with?" Sam laughed.  
  
"You know, like, um, hard kissing? Making out? Snogging?"  
  
"Have you got off with a boy before?"  
  
"Nosy little hobbit." She tweaked Sam's nose. "Truthfully, more than once, but they're one night stands, so they don't count as actual relationship."  
  
"What if you see him the next day?" Pippin asked. "Then does it count?"  
  
"It so dark, you wouldn't recognize your 'partner', if you will."  
  
"That's disgusting!" Rivers laughed in reply. "Actually, it's part of growing up. Don't tell me you haven't done it at least once." She eyed the group, commenting on everyone. "Aragorn, well, you have Arwen, Sam has Rosie, and well Merry and Pippin are just gentle-hobbits, right?"  
  
"Am I a gentle-hobbit?"  
  
"Yes, Frodo."  
  
"As a gentle-hobbit, must I refrain from getting off with?"  
  
"Possibly."  
  
"Possibly?"  
  
"Yes, possibly."  
  
Rivers was startled when Legolas said something. He had vanished from the conversation. "Do English boys think about it the same way as girls?"  
  
"I don't know. Probably not."  
  
"Why? What do they think of it?"  
  
"You have to understand people's different values of love. Some people really want a down-to-earth relationship and others only want sex-"  
  
"Ah ha!" Gandalf stood up, pointy hat tucked beneath his arm. "It's this way!"  
  
Legolas was ill at ease as he followed the wizard though the portal.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"No! No!" Gimli's bulk shoved through the door, halting to kneel at a large stone aberration in the middle of the room. A shaft of light shone down on the smooth top, illuminating the words etched into the stone: "'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.' He is dead then. Its as I feared."  
  
The wizard wrenched a dusty tome from a rotting dwarf's grasp. Rivers snatched Pippin and pulled him close to her. "They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep."  
  
Pippin shuddered. Gandalf turned the page. "We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out...they are coming."  
  
Someone's hand clapped Rivers' shoulder. In alarm, she shoved the hobbit forward and screamed. Pippin reacted instinctively by tossing Gandalf's things away and running about, joining Rivers chorus of fright.  
  
Gandalf's hat fluttered to the ground as his staff slammed into a corpse, knocking off its perch atop the well. Clanking loudly, it zoomed down the shaft. A painful silence ensued, broken by Gandalf. "A Took and a hopeless girl! Throw yourselves in and rid us of your stupidity!" Drums serenaded his voice as he flung his things onto the ground.  
  
Rivers and the hobbits shank against the wall, Sting glowing a deep turquoise as they drew their weapons. She fell to her knees to find one for herself.  
  
An axe, a morning star, and a short knife were the best she could find. Now to pick one . . . but which one? The scimitar was too small to help her and the axe was gigantic, rendering her unable to lift it. The morning star was light, however, light as a ribbon.  
  
A ribbon! As a young girl, she remembered ribbon dancing with her cousin in Newcastle. The silk threads flew brightly about their childish bodies like lovely colored flags.  
  
She lifted it easily, questioning its damage factor. Stepping away from the shivering hobbits, she swung it a familiar combo—and slammed it against the wall. Chunks of plaster and mortar crumbled beneath the force of the blow. "That works," she said, pulling the spike ball from the wall.  
  
A roar, muffled by the blocked door, wrenched the adrenaline from her insides. Fearful energy webbed through her. Boromir growled, "They have a cave troll."  
  
Gimli hopped up onto the sarcophagus of his cousin. "Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria that still draws breath!"  
  
Wood splintered. Legolas loosened an arrow. The door creaked, threatening to give way, and it did. Orcs poured into the room and the Fellowship fell upon them.  
  
A particularly ugly beast snarled at Rivers. She swung the chain single- handedly, and the orc dropped, its throat cut. Rivers watched Sam bang one with his frying pan, saying, "I think I'm getting the hang of this!"  
  
A rock caught her shoulder. Spinning her new weapon, she whirled around. A growl identified her attacker as the troll. Legolas hopped off its knobby head to watch Rivers fling her coil at the beast. The morning star curled around the hook of its knife and locked there.  
  
Its brute strength whipped her from her feet and she slammed into a pillar across the room. 


	8. Good Mourning

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 8: Good Mourning Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
  
Blood burst from her flesh, creating a deadly illusion on the column now painted with the scarlet liquid that had escaped her vessels. All the time he watched, remaining as silent as she. His muscles spasmed and sent an arrow askew.  
  
Somewhere, Frodo screamed. Legolas pulled another arrow across the string and released it. The troll was falling. It hit the ground, the echo of its slap causing the orcs to flee.  
  
He was at her side, hesitant to touch her. Her mangled body was breathing not rhythmically, and she was torn across the brow. Blood rushed from her nose and leaked from her empty white eyes. Aragorn had pulled Frodo to his feet and strode next to the elf, the hobbit tagging along.  
  
Frodo dropped to his knees, crimson soaking into his breeches. Rivers eyes fluttered open, the mystic hues of a faint world creeping away. "I'm sorry, Frodo," she rasped. "I've failed you all!"  
  
Sam whispered a prayer as Rivers closed her eyes. Gandalf shoved past them. "Can't have you trailing blood around, good woman."  
  
A light blossomed from the peak of his staff. Heat radiated from the point, morphing into a sphere of pure energy. A mist from the globe seeped into the grievous wounds of the bandy haired maiden.  
  
She screamed as the cuts sealed themselves shut, tears spilling down her cheeks. The flesh sewed itself together and enveloped her in excruciating anguish—  
  
And she vanished into a spectrum of pale colors, left with the faint connection back to Legolas' grasp, and it was here she resided until her waking in one of the great halls of Moria. Once again, she awoke to the bouncing world around her. As her vision slurred into focus, she realized where she was.  
  
"My lady?"  
  
Legolas' looked down quickly and smiled. "You're awake! You took quite a blow from that troll."  
  
"We're running from the Balrog, aren't we?"  
  
He almost tripped. "Yes, but-"  
  
"Don't talk! Run!"  
  
His elven grace swept him easily across the rocky steps of the cavernous deep of Moria. The tight hall exploded into a great passageway with a broken stairwell twisting to the other side. As they approached the gap, Rivers' vision faded, the images blobbing and clumping into large masses of colour. "Great."  
  
Legolas jumped into the other side and set her at his feet. Confused and half-blind, she scrambled about the floor. Something shifted and she expected Boromir, Merry, and Pippin hand flopped down on this side. It wriggled again.  
  
The group had landed, but the entire rock did not quake. "Oh, shit."  
  
A chunk of the stone cracked and shredded off from its brethren. Of course, Rivers couldn't see the fine points off this; she knew only that she was falling. She flung her arms at the edge, catching the sharp line of the ledge with her palms.  
  
The lip plunged into her scar. Her scream was the incarnation of fear and she held on, unwilling to fall. Strangely, the lament cleared her vision, sharpening it as Legolas bent to pick her up.  
  
With her new sight, she searched his face. Blue eyes ringed with black lashes were plagued with fear. High cheekbones, barely visible, supported gorgeous features and a slender nose. He whispered, "Stay with me now."  
  
Once again she relished his warmth from her cradle in his arms. They whirled together to face the break.  
  
Gimli jumped, but not far enough. Rivers' hand lashed out, snatching his bread. She saw every hair, every threadlike fiber stringing from her hand to his chin. The weaved braids tensed from the stress and he cried, "Not the beard!"  
  
Aragorn stepped, but the stones gave way and crumbled to the hungry fires below, licking thirstily at the rock as it fell. The giant pillar swayed, drifting backwards. "Lean! Rivers shouted.  
  
The duo thrust their bulk towards the front of the rock. The column hesitated, but swung forward and slammed into the main stair for long enough for them to get off before falling to the fires below.  
  
"Run!"  
  
The stairs collapsed behind them, cringing into the heat of the blaze below. The Fellowship broke across to the bridge of Khazad-dûm. The thin strip of stone looked unsteady, but Rivers knew many feet had treaded the path before them.  
  
A hiss of flame and a growl of shadow lit the dank empty behind them. Legolas had reached the other side safely. Rivers shuddered in his grasp, which tightened at her reflex.  
  
Fly, you fools!  
  
She burst into tears, yelling, "Gandalf! Hurry, please!"  
  
"You shall not pass!"  
  
Frodo and Rivers sang, "Gandalf!"  
  
His staff illuminated the sliver of bridge than held him from the dark. "I am the servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you! Flame of Udun!"  
  
The Balrog's sword shattered against the wizard staff. In anger, it slid dangerously close, with Rivers and Frodo calling his name in pandemonium. "Go back to the shadow!"  
  
He will return, she told herself, but not soon enough.  
  
"YOU . . . SHALL NOT . . . PASS!" He drove the sword at wooden tower into the ground, grinding against the latent spell that was Khazad-dûm.  
  
The flaming shadow slammed a foot down on the bridge, which crumbled. The flame was engulfed in shadow, left to fall to the angry depths of the dark. For the second he turned to join them, Rivers thought he would make it.  
  
But the lash of fire shot up from behind, dragging him down to the deep. He grasped the ledge as Frodo screamed wildly, restrained by Boromir. Gandalf stopped flailing.  
  
"Fly, you fools!" and he vanished into the abyss.  
  
Struck dumb by her poor preparation, Rivers sat limply in the elf's arms as he hustled out of the East Gate of Moria. 


	9. The Other Side of the River

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 9: The Other Side of The River Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
  
It was a horrible torment, just to sleep, with the thought of Gandalf and the empty darkness waltzing across her dreams. Breaking out in a cold sweat, she woke from the grip of her cloak. The colorful tinge of dawn was strewn carelessly among the clouds of the early morning.  
  
She stood, some invisible ache plaguing her shapely form. Without thinking, she began to run aimlessly over the rocks. Each step worsened the pain, both the intangible and cramps. Her lungs burned with the lack of air and her broken heart hammered haplessly at her chest, morphing her into a violent blob of hate, self-pity and sadness.  
  
Despite the stitches in her sides, the thought of returning to Gandalf's tomb quaked her steps with a fear she dare not investigate. Eventually, the rocks beneath her became soft mosses as she shoved through branches and trees. Her foot caught a root and she pitched forward.  
  
So, she thought, this is how it ends? The final triumph of Rivers of Hastings.  
  
Through the squirming and the tears, a warm hand was placed upon her shoulder. She thrust her head up, cheeks streaked with blood, dirt, and water. She smiled at the blurry elf, and collapsed.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"She's gone!" Legolas spat. Aragorn, vexed, said heartlessly, "We have no time to find her. Get them up, Legolas."  
  
"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir rounded on the young king in disgust. Aragorn capped his anger by saying through clenched teeth, "By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the Woods of Lothlorien. Come Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, get them up."  
  
As soon as the camp was packed, Legolas and Aragorn led the way over the stony mountains of Moria.  
  
* * * * *  
  
You have to understand people's different values of love.  
  
His eyes were dimmed in a quiet sermon as he preached her words to himself. Even now, he saw her streaked head and her wide smile in a delirious lament, her wounds adding to the visible anguish.  
  
Legolas shook his head. She's not dead.  
  
He found himself looking up the shaft of a well-crafted arrow, the feathers glistening in the dark light of the forest. An elf stared back at him from the other end. "The dwarf breathes so loudly we could have shot him the dark," said another elf from behind a tree. Legolas gasped.  
  
Strung across his arms was a young girl, cheeks drooling with filth from the trees. Haldir's blonde locks mingled with the streaky ones of the girl. Haldir wore her red cloak, revealing Rivers' green attire strung across her sinewy frame. Legolas lost Aragorn's words to the elf in his surprising jealousy.  
  
Haldir said something back, and Legolas almost whipped out his bow when he saw Haldir comb her hair with his fingers as he readjusted her. She was out cold, the steady rise of her generous chest reassuring him.  
  
"Come, she is waiting."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Rivers sat scrunched in the chair, her reclaimed cloak wrapped around her. The scarlet hid the hot pan that her chamber-keeper had given her. Her lower muscles had begun to contract, warping her with aching pain. The maid, Rílaisseth, had scurried off after a profound bitching from Rivers.  
  
The tight, primitive band of stretchy cloth fitting snuggly around her loins made her feel bloated. The pain made her feel like killing someone, so she just sat in the chair, a bandy ball of latent viciousness.  
  
Her gaze didn't focus right and she was fixed on wriggling the pain away. How long was a woman's period? Three days, wasn't it?  
  
Boromir stuck his head in her room. "Good evening, Rivers of Hastings!" Aragorn walked in, too, and the other followed.  
  
"It's just Rivers," she sizzled, her tone as ragged as a serrated knife. Boromir stepped in cautiously behind his king, eyeing the girl uncertainly. Legolas heard her voice and found a primordial sense of comfort. In her voice was anger, surprising even him. He closed his eyes, searching for the meaning of her senseless hatred. Movement stirred him from his melancholy.  
  
A brown-haired elf had whisked into the room as a loud smack of the collision of flesh encircled the room. Rolling off the wall, Legolas appeared in the doorway.  
  
Boromir was on his knees, hands clapped over his right cheek. Aragorn was passively backing away from Rivers, who was on her feet, restrained only by Rílaisseth. Legolas noted a bulge around the waistline of her dress, but was ripped of his time to inspect it by a fleeing Boromir, with Aragorn in hot pursuit.  
  
The brown man tumbled to his feet and panted, "She's worse than Sauron!"  
  
"Calm down," Aragorn breathed, a nervous sweat drizzling his forehead. "This trip has hit her hard. Women are like that, so just leave her be."  
  
"Was she ok?"  
  
"You stupid elf, did you see her slap me? Of course she's ok! I'm going to bed."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Rivers wasn't at lunch, Sam noted. Pippin had the nerve to ask, "Where's the lass?"  
  
Boromir shot him a nasty look that forced the half-chewed apple down the hobbit's throat. Merry soothed the spasms of coughing by shoving a glass of water into his mouth. Legolas said simply, "She keeps to her chambers."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because that is where she wishes to remain for reasons of her own, Meriadoc."  
  
Pippin broke into coughing, and was led away. Sam inquired, "Where is Mister Frodo?"  
  
"Sleeping. His quarters are on the far side of the West Wood, if you'd like to visit."  
  
"Indeed I would," the plump hobbit said, and excused himself from the table, lunch barely eaten.  
  
Meandering the forested corridors or Lothlòrien, Sam came upon the real beauty of the elves that he had admired so much. Marble staircase, sculpted flawlessly, twisted around the white foliage native to this unique realm. He waddled down a thin strip of hallway, examining every aspect of the elvish wonder.  
  
Two doors near the end were adorned with an engraved slab of granite. One specked stone proudly read, 'Frodo Baggins, Shire' and the other, 'Rivers Brind'Amour, Hastings'.  
  
Frodo's door was ajar, the soft sounds of snoring comforting Sam. In his curiosity, he opened Rivers' door. Her back was to the door and a fire danced in the fireplace, rendering her totally oblivious to him. Her bandy locks spilled over onto her red cloak.  
  
A hand clapped his beefy shoulder. Sam rounded on his attacker, but relaxed after seeing it was only Boromir. Aragorn and Legolas dwindled behind him, their faces strangely blank.  
  
"Visiting Mister Frodo?"  
  
"I was only looking!" he murmured, closing her door. The men (an elf) relaxed. "Besides, Mister Frodo's asleep."  
  
"Her room should be renamed," Boromir said cautiously. "Mordor is more appropriate."  
  
Sam glowered at him, feeling uncomfortable under the trio's gaze. Boromir continued, "We have awoken the latent hatred." 


	10. Hearing More

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 10: Hearing More Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
  
Something was dripping as it neared midnight. Annoyed and pissed off, Rivers floundered out of bed and fumbled for her cloak. Bare-footed, she set off after the sound.  
  
"Damn these stupid things," she mumbled giving her breeches a hitch. "Elves. Why don't they menstruate? They're so smart, they might actually invent tampons."  
  
The shattering of water droplets grew and she turned the corner. She gasped at what she saw, the soft echo of her flesh against the cold marble drowned in the dripping.  
  
The mirror of Galadriel stood in the clearing of moss. A waterfall trickled in the background. Rivers pinpointed the dripping to the clogged waterfall, but was unable to confirm it, for an elf stood near the tiny pond where the waters pooled.  
  
He gold locks told Rivers it was Galadriel. She was daunted by her voice. "The mirror of Galadriel ceases to function." Galadriel turned. "Do you know why, child?"  
  
Rivers shook her head.  
  
"Perhaps someone's presence disturbs it." She strode of to her and took Rivers' hands in her own. "It is not you. It is your number."  
  
Confused, Rivers withdrew her fingers.  
  
"Ten set out from Rivendell, when only nine was foreseen. Yet nine arrive in Lothlòrien. It is troubled times, these days."  
  
Unsure of the elven woman before her, Rivers backed away cautiously. A mystical look glazed the witch's eyes. "But . . . there remains enough in the mirror for one to look . . . will you look in the mirror?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Rivers smiled to the flames that licked the fireplace, pleased that the pain had dissipated and she was free from the makeshift pad that she wore. The heat was incredible, but she didn't notice.  
  
No, it is not my place to look at such things.  
  
Is that so?  
  
Yes, now if you'll excuse me, I will retire.  
  
She had yet to retire. She was much too restless. The fire coveted her, so this was where she remained, unable to tear away from the writhing pillars of fire.  
  
Suddenly, the fire flickered strangely. Rivers leaned in, squinting.  
  
There was her brother, remade in the heat, on a hospital bed. Tubes were shoved in his arms, down his throat, and up his nose. The flames gave him a jaundiced appearance, but otherwise he seemed fine. His breathing was deep and even, the patches that moderated his heart rate bobbing up and down.  
  
As if on cue, he sat up and looked around. Anger swept his features and Rivers almost hurled as he pulled the pipes from his mouth. He tore the patches off and ripped an I.V. from his wrist. The fire swirled and the vision was lost.  
  
"No!" she mumbled and reached for him, like she could bring him back. Instantly, she drew her hand back. It was unscathed, but her scar burned with a latent pain. She bit back another yelp.  
  
A strong, swift hand turned her around, sprawling her in the floor. A wisp of hair drifted across her face. She couldn't see and flailed her arm at her face to be rid her of the treacherous locks of banded glory.  
  
It was Legolas.  
  
He was standing in the vee of Rivers legs.  
  
She gulped.  
  
Suddenly, she snapped her legs together, but he jumped out of the way gracefully. The loud slap of her flesh echoed through the muslin of her night rail.  
  
"Good evening."  
  
"Hiccup. I mean, hi."  
  
"I heard you yelling."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I screamed that loud?"  
  
Stunned, he turned away. "Wait," she said feebly, and he stopped in the door well, head turned far enough for him to see her. "Don't go."  
  
It was like she had lightening imbued in her tongue. "What are you suggesting?"  
  
"Err, well, you could stay a little bit, if you wanted."  
  
"And what would we talk about?"  
  
"I dunno. The ring, maybe?"  
  
"What would a foreigner know of Sauron and his evil?"  
  
"I am a woman, and I know lots of things About the Ring." Legolas moved a sheaf of clothes from a chair and sat down, lacing his fingers together to make a chin rest. Rivers continued, "Well, the Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom, by Sauron, over a thousand years ago. A last alliance of men and elves marches upon the armies of Mordor, including Elrond and Icildur. Sauron stepped on Icildur's sword but he still got the Ring off his finger."  
  
Legolas said, "How do you know? That day was lost, years and years ago."  
  
She grinned. "Would you like to hear more?"  
  
A/N: OMG! Ten chapters, two reviews... so much for a healthy support system!  
  
Limpet: Your address is *still* dysfunctional..... email me.  
  
Reggie and Roobes: Glad you like it! Hope this one clears up a bit of Riv's history... 


	11. Memories or Nightmares?

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 11: Memories or Nightmares? Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback: nano_starr@metrodesic.com  
  
"What surprises you most about human kind?"  
  
This was talking. They had digressed to the topic of the faults of the races of Middle Earth. Legolas answered, "It's hard to say. Me, I'm immortal, whereas you are not. Men rush to grow up, then long to be children again."  
  
"Is that truly a surprise, or a fault? We fear death because it means we won't live anymore."  
  
"Live? Like dying?"  
  
"Yes, we will die. The function of a human is not to exist, but to live."  
  
"But live like you will remain forever, but you die as though you hadn't lived."  
  
"Exactly! This is nice, for me to find a blemish of the elves. You do not feel the urge to grow up, adventure, or love."  
  
"I'm adventuring now, and you can't make someone love you, you can only make love to them."  
  
"Make love? As in, like, sex?"  
  
Legolas gave her an astonished look, relishing the laugh that she poured from her lips. Her eyes dropped as she fumbled with the corners of the bed cushion she sprawled out on. "Yes, my lady, sex." He came over and sat next to her, and she sat up with her legs crossed, cloak still draped about her shoulders.  
  
"This may seem forward, but have you, err, you know, like, gotten of with elf before?"  
  
"I thought getting off with pertained to 'snogging'."  
  
She laughed, but richened her tone with seriousness. "Maybe."  
  
His eyebrows shot toward his hairline. "Are you saying you have lost your right as a virgin?"  
  
"No," she said firmly, but her expression softened. "Well, I came really close."  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"No, Kyler and I have sorted it out. I forgave him and I forgave myself."  
  
"Was Kyler your partner?"  
  
Rivers lost it. She laughed until her sides ached with pain, and slowly, between spasms of giggles, said, "No, he is my brother. He's too retarded to have sex."  
  
Legolas' cheeks blossomed into twin roses of embarrassment. "I'm a bit confused."  
  
"I was at a gig with my friends when I met my boyfriend there. We went upstairs to what people call the high chambers. It's where you get off with, I guess."  
  
He nodded understandingly. I can tell him everything, when Kyler has to pressure it out of me. God, this feels so normal.  
  
"My 'partner' really wanted to, like, take me, but I wouldn't let him. I struggled, and he left me alone, and broke up with me the next day."  
  
Legolas disliked the idea of almost taking her virginity and then abandoning her. Rivers saw the daunted expression across his gorgeous features and said, "I got over that one, with a little help." He face drooped a bit, just enough fro the elf to inquire, "You miss your family?"  
  
She shook her head. "Kyler is the only one that I tell everything to, because I don't have any parents."  
  
"Really? How so?"  
  
"I'm a tavern girl." Seeing the perplexed look on his face, she explained, "You know, like a paid prostitute who didn't have protection and got unlucky with birth control? I guess it runs in the family, because my 'father' left my mother, too. She committed suicide when I was 2."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"I didn't know either of them, and I don't care to." She sighed, trying to wipe away a rogue tear from her cheek. She didn't even feel the elf slide off the bed and stand in front of her. "You're crying."  
  
"No, I'm not. I'm just thinking of my brother." Again, she sighed. "It's been over a month, Legolas. My birthday is in 2 months." Another tear ground down her face. "It'll be the first I've celebrated with out Kyler. We do everything together."  
  
Legolas cupped her chin with his left hand, steering her gaze into his own. Under his stare, Rivers felt the tears sizzle away as she smoldered beneath it, tearing away when she was unable to hold it. Once again, her heart was beating with unbridled violence. He murmured a farewell in Elvish, and left.  
  
She remained in bed all through the night and the morning, eating into the evening. Memories passed before her waking, white eyes. Kyler and his bouncy ball from her days as a toddler and her smiling lugubriously as she watched her nine-year old brother flounder through his first steps plagued her vision. She witnessed her compound fracture, her twin abjectly confused as her friend, Tate, graciously explained what happened for the eighth time.  
  
"Mistress?" Someone shook her sharply. "It's Rílaisseth."  
  
"Oh, right." Rivers tossed the covers away. The elf mingled about her chambers, cleaning and stalling. Rivers simply pulled her favorite cloak over her shoulders and waited for the maid to stop killing precious time.  
  
Finally, Rílaisseth stood up. "Your presence was greatly missed at Galadriel's meeting this morning."  
  
"Is that so?" Rivers said flatly, secretly embarrassed about her waste of time.  
  
"She was going to give you this," Rílaisseth smirked. She produced along crystal tube, holes drilled into the sides. They were surrounded by flourishes of raised glass. It perplexed Rivers, but she took it any way, finger curling around the mouthpiece with puzzled interest.  
  
Rílaisseth said, "It's the Cúron Ivor, quite literally 'crescent moon crystal' in Sindarin. It is an instrument of wonder in the eyes of all." She took it, wrapping it in a lace case and placing by Rivers' things. Rivers knew how to play regular flutes, but she didn't know why she was given a crystal one. Rílaisseth helped her dress in a white gown with diamonds encrusted into the bodice and left.  
  
Overcome with curiosity, she picked up the precious flute and caressed it lovingly. The Elves were divine beings, but in their solitude and quiet prejudices, Rivers wondered if, in their own daunting way, they were showing off. The artifact before her turned a translucent orange in the glow of the fire.  
  
Instinct drove it to her lips; it tasted of solid power beneath her tongue. She blew softly.  
  
No sound came out. She blew harder, this time shifting her fingertips in an elegant waltz across the tube's crystalline surface. The fire reared up in the fireplace, threatening to move from its prison below the mantelpiece.  
  
The flute whirled her away from the elven room. She floundered through emptiness and was dumped onto a cold, linoleum floor. Happiness relieved her body from a violent tremble as she saw the hospital bed before her.  
  
Wait...  
  
The walls were big, metal cabinets, one thrust open with the bed extended. The label on the door read her name, followed by a series of numbers. Her brother stood over the bed and a tear wiggled down his cheek.  
  
This was no hospital.  
  
It was a morgue. 


	12. Shatter Glass

Dreamcast I: Become A Believer Chapter 12: Shatter Glass Rating: R (for mild language, suggestive themes, some sexuality) Summary: Rivers is thrown into Middle Earth in a freak car accident. Somewhere between killing orcs, riding fell beasts, and snogging elves, she realizes it's more than just a dream and living hell . . . because there is no going back! Feedback:  
  
That is not me in that morgue bed.  
  
She lurched off the floor, sending the flute flying, and hurled her herself over the edge of the mattress. Dumping herself onto the metal sheet, she gasped. Cool flesh met her fingers as her feet mindlessly scrambled into balance. A hand met her own, and she shoved hers into their grasp. Fearful tears brought the picture out of focus, so she anxiously blinked them away.  
  
Legolas' elven face swarmed her vision. She was squeezing his hand, so much that his fingers had arched over hers. This was the first time they had made flesh-to-flesh contact and it was not the last. He struck her skin with a ripple of cold fire, so distant, yet erotic. Instinctively, her hip jerked, ripping their contact. The thrust turned her around, facing the empty marble wall that was stretched over a framework of elven magic.  
  
The flute lay at the foot of the wall. Legolas followed her gaze, and gasped mentally. He picked it up graciously. It seemed holy in his grip as he presented it to her.  
  
"I am very interested in where you found this."  
  
"Rílaisseth said it was from Galadriel."  
  
"This vanished from history when the Ring was taken into the hands of Gondor. Sirion played it as a lament for Middle Earth a thousand years ago."  
  
Rivers said vaguely, "Who?"  
  
"Sirion. The demigoddess of the elves."  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"She hasn't been seen since that day."  
  
"So this is cursed?" She pulled her hands away, fingertips spread in an aching anxiety to caress the crystal cylinder.  
  
"No," Legolas said, pushing it into her hands and closing it in her fingers. "It just has many a sore memory sown into the glass. But Galadriel did give it to you, so I'm sure there is a reason for it to be in your possession."  
  
Rivers' head swam; everyone expected so much of her! Galadriel believed her to be a prophet, Gandalf regarded her as a beacon of hope, and... Legolas! What does he think?  
  
Her voice masked her inner grief. "Legolas, what do you think of me?"  
  
His answer was immediate. "As a little sister, one whom I shall watch for the rest of their existence."  
  
"I live, remember last night?"  
  
"I think not." He left the room, an elvish zephyr sifting through his hair. "I think not."  
  
They camped on the shore after four hours of canoeing. Rivers' fingers were smote with blisters and they stung as Legolas submerged them in water and wrapped them. He felt her hands toughen, calluses capping her scars. She smiled at him, despite the pain.  
  
However, her slumber surprised her most of all.  
  
She awoke to voices on the wind. A soft breeze breathed a whisper through the trees. She heard them whistle past her ears, too low to decipher them, yet loud enough to wake only her.  
  
Her favorite cloak was tucked away, and so placating were the voices, she lumbered out into the forest without it. Luckily, she was so exhausted her wore her breeches to bed.  
  
The whispers erased all memory of her conscious self. She was only capable of stumbling through the branches of an ancient wood, forward, always forward, never tarrying. In her oblivion, she had wandered out of the wood and into a spring. Her foot crunched on the crisp grass and she awoke a second time. The voices had gone.  
  
She gasped, not seeing anything. Looking inwardly, she mentally kicked herself for following the unknown. She remembered the waking, the voices, but forgot the walk, yet the ache in her foot told her there was one.  
  
At last, she returned to the outside and sat on the grass, hopelessly lost. In that time she fell asleep and she dreamed of Legolas.  
  
He was flawless. His gorgeous hair, his slender eyes, and his grace captivated her thoughts often. She couldn't help herself.  
  
She knew she would never be as pretty or as graceful as the elven women he had met. She knew him well, and he did too. She disliked being a little sister, secretly wanting more.  
  
Something was shoved into her stomach. It pierced her skin and sank deep into her juicy insides. Her brain shut her down, the blackness crowding out the pain.  
  
Orcs! They were everywhere! Legolas could have shot aimlessly into the woods and still hit some. The beasts tripped over their own dead and floundered into battle. Arrows whizzed past Aragorn's head and buried themselves into the hearts of the ugly monsters.  
  
His panic from his waking had subsided. She was gone when he had woken!  
  
He tore off over the hill, unaware that he was fleeting Boromir's rescue. Over the hill, he saw two hobbits scampering away from the wreckage, a pack of orcs on their tail.  
  
Skewered like a hitchhiker's pack and hang from the lead orc's shoulder was Rivers, blood spewing from her stomach and flying from her mouth as her coughed violently. From her perch, impaled upon the spear, she smiled deliriously. He recognized the smile; it was the one she gave him when he cleaned her blisters.  
  
Then, he watched, with his virgin eyes, a piece of her stomach tear, and she swung off of the rod.

A/N: Reviewers whom I cannot contact: Book II is complete! Please read, I am continuing this story over there!


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